


Begin Again

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Not Famous, Angst, First Meetings, Heartbreak, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid<br/>I think it's strange that you think I'm funny 'cause he never did</p>
            </blockquote>





	Begin Again

_I’ve been spending the last eight months  
Thinking all love ever does is break, and burn, and end_

It doesn’t feel like home.

Which isn’t strange, exactly. Nothing has felt like home for nearly a year now, since Chris had stalked out of a joint apartment and ended a relationship with the slam of a door. He didn’t go back after that, except to pack up his things, and just like that, it had all been over. He’d stayed with his parents for a little, and then bounced between friends after that, but this is the first place he’s stayed in eight months where his name is actually on the lease.

But even though his new little apartment is completely his, it doesn’t feel that way. There’s no more boxes sitting around, and he takes his clothes out of a closet instead of a suitcase, but Chris still feels like an intruder in his own home. There aren’t any memories attached to this place, and it feels empty and hollow.

All of the furniture is brand new, and the only things that give him any nostalgia are tucked in a box at the back of the storage closet. Chris knows he should throw it away, but he can’t touch it without a lump sticking in his throat.

So he leaves it, and it sits in a corner like it sits in his mind—he can pretend that it isn’t there, like it never existed, but it's still a constant reminder. Looking at it,  _thinking_ about it, just hurts.

He’s become a hermit since the break up, something his friends are quick to call him on and that Chris doesn’t even try to deny anymore. Instead, he convinces them he’s always been a hermit—he likes his solitude, and the quiet, and being around people has become exhausting. In the privacy of his own home, he doesn’t feel the need to smile all of the time.

Smiling is the real thing that’s exhausting. Acting like he’s perfectly fine is exhausting, too. In the haven of his apartment, the only one who sees his stoic expression is his cat, and… Well, Brian isn’t exactly going to try and wheedle information out of him. Instead, he settles against Chris’s thigh, like a good cat should.

He’s sitting on his couch, laptop open and fingers typing away, even though he already hates everything his fingers are managing to get out. For once, Chris’s apartment is _too_  quiet, and it’s frustrating to no end. Writing is his livelihood, how he makes his money, and sometimes this seemingly never-ending-funk works with it and sometimes it just… Doesn’t.

Groaning, Chris tilts his head back, eyes closed, and tries not to think. He knows he’s thinking too hard, remembering things he shouldn’t remember and stirring up the bad pot of feelings he can’t seem to get rid of.

He remembers failed attempts at cooking together, breathless tickle fights, exchanging Christmas gifts under twinkling lights, a warm hand pressed to his and lips against his cheek.

“Stop it,” he says out loud, like he’s talking to the ghosts of memories rather than himself.

Fingers in his hair, gentle laughter, a thousand words and a thousand promises that don’t mean anything anymore.

It’s not fair. It really isn’t. Chris snaps his laptop closed without looking, feeling anger towards his own memories. He moved because he didn’t want to face all of this, and he’s been running from it, trying to swallow it away. He knows now that it’s what those memories represent that he has a deep, aching longing for, but he associates them with…

 _No_. He is so, so done with this.

And he’ll keep telling himself that every day, for as long as it takes, until it comes true.

“I need to get out,” Chris says, as if Brian cares at all. He can just go down to that sandwich place he knows is on the corner, let the chatter become background noise and drown out his own thoughts. Then, maybe, he’ll be able to write. He’s quick to shove all of his things into his laptop bag, only just pausing to look in the mirror he has hanging on the wall of the living room.

Chris doesn’t look his best, but… He hasn’t, in awhile. His friends and family are more convinced now, but Chris knows his own face better than them—he sees the signs of sleeplessness, of how little he’s still eating. He sighs, takes a deep breath, and pushes on. It’s not like it matters anymore.

He pops his headphones into his ears, plugs them into his phone, and drowns out the busy bustle of LA. If Chris could walk and close his eyes, he’d probably try, wanting for just a minute to escape into the music and maybe just… Walk forever, with no destination. It would be nice, at least, to be able to keep running from everything. He wishes he was one of those people that could listen to music and write, but he ends up typing lyrics more often than not.

So Chris takes this moment to just let it wash over him, paying attention to the beats and instruments more than the words themselves. If he listens to the words, he connects them with things. Before, they used to be good things, but it’s funny how quickly things can turn sour.

He’s never been to the café, but he’s seen it enough times. It’s a cute little place that has outdoor seating and free wifi, and that’s really what draws his attention. They put all of his food on a tray before handing it to him, pointing him in the direction of the soda fountain, where— _thankfully_ —they have Diet Coke instead of Pepsi. Chris could probably come to like this place very much, especially given how inexpensive it is (but he should probably wait to try his food before he judges it so favorably).

And then, of course,  _of course_ , something bad has to happen.

Because bad things just seem to keep happening to Chris. No more good things for him.

Soda filled and balancing rather precariously on his tray, he turns and is smacked into by another person. Not only does all of his food fall on the floor, but he ends up with exploded soda jumping up his calves. Chris feels frozen, arms still extended where he’d been holding the tray, and he stares at the ground where dark brown liquid is soaking into his ruined food.

Chris fucking hates everything.

“I am so, so sorry, that—” the guy that had run into him is talking, and Chris might feel angry on a normal day. But today, he just feels sort of apathetic. Everything just sucks, every day. Why is it different today? He lifts his eyes without a bite of anger towards this stranger, just wanting to get this over with so he can order again.

“It’s fine,” he says, already moving away, but the guy grabs his arm. Chris looks at where he’s being touched, eyes widening slightly.

“No, like, that was totally my fault. Like, you have  _no_  idea.” The guy smiles sheepishly. “Let me make it up to you, at least? Buy you a new meal?”

Chris furrows his eyebrows.

“Are you hitting on me?” He asks, flatly, and the guy’s eyes double in size.

“Oh, um… Yeah, yeah I am.” He laughs then, dragging a hand through his rather curly hair and looking upwards. “That obvious, huh?”

“I just don’t have guys offering to buy me food very often.”  _Anymore_. The word stings in his chest.

“Really?” The guy seems absolutely perplexed. “That is wrong on so many levels. Let me make up for that, too?”

And Chris’s lips actually crack in a smile, which is… New. He takes a deep breath, and then tilts his chin down a bit.

“Alright, I… Guess you owe me, anyway.”

“Basically.” The guy’s grin is wide, and his eyes crinkle kind of adorably at the corners. “Actually, really, I… Uh, to be honest, I kind of ran into you on purpose?” He looks sheepish again, like he’s waiting for Chris to reprimand him. “I wanted to talk to you, and it was the first idea that popped into my head.”

“Really? Running into me?” Chris raises an eyebrow. “Not, you know, just talking to me?”

“Wow, you have fucking great ideas, don’t you?” But the guy just laughs again. It makes Chris smile a little bit more. “I guess I just sort of lose my common sense around beautiful guys.”

The word hurts and soothes at the same time, and Chris swallows, shifting on his feet and averting his eyes. He gestures awkwardly toward the string of people forming at the counter.

“Shall we?”

“Absolutely.” And then the guy  _links their arms together_ , and it’s so ridiculous. And nice.

It’s really nice.

Chris is kind of amazed at how much his day, his  _life_ , feels like it’s turning on its head.

“I don’t think I caught your name,” the guy says, as they take their place in line.

“Probably because you didn’t ask,” Chris states, and the guy just keeps grinning, like he doesn’t even care. Chris thinks he probably doesn’t. “It’s Chris.”

“Well, Chris.” And the guy turns his head, honey eyes warm, and Chris feels his heart tighten in a way he vaguely remembers as  _good_. “I’m Darren.”

 _But on a Wednesday, in a café, I watched it begin again_.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with [sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912610)!


End file.
